


Off the Mark

by Anonymous



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Background Relationships, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor tries to console his brother after he loses his act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Mark

The giant black wolf regards him with impassive eyes, pink tongue lolling from his mouth as he yawns, then drops his mighty head to rest on his forepaws. His gaze never leaves the man sitting just outside the bars of his cage, and for all Bruce is the beast-tamer in their little troupe, Loki imagines he sees kinship in the wolf’s eyes.  
  
It’s what makes him, normally fastidious to a fault, content to sit in the dust and dirt and sneak pieces of gamey meat through the iron rungs. Fenrir is a captive every bit as much as he, and just as dependent on the whims and favor of the men behind the curtains.  
  
Thinking of them makes the tight, hot ball of anger that’s been festering in his stomach since he’d stormed from their office burn all the brighter. His hands curve into claws, fists, relaxing and contracting with the waves of fury that crash and ebb against his chest. How  _dare_  they. How dare they after all this time, after—  
  
“Brother?”  
  
Loki’s shoulders tighten, mouth pressing into a thin line before he grits out a simple, “Not now, Thor.”  
  
The warning, the  _plea_ , goes just as unheeded as he expected it would, his brother’s boots kicking up fine clouds of dust as he shuffles inside. Thor hesitates only a moment before sinking to his knees beside him, and Loki can all but  _hear_  the wheels in his brother’s head turning, turning, searching for the right thing to say. Closing his eyes, he thinks savagely that he might as well spare him the effort.  
  
“They’re giving him my act.” The words taste like poison.  
  
“I’ve heard. I’m… I’m sorry, brother.” A warm, heavy hand lays on his shoulder. The firepit in Lokis’s stomach gives a sudden flare.  
  
Violently shrugging away the other man’s touch, Loki rises to his feet in one smooth motion, all but trembling with his anger.  
  
“ _My act_. He waltzes in here with that ridiculous bow and curries  _her_  good favor, and suddenly my knives aren’t good enough?” His voice is rising steadily, nearing a shout, and if he weren’t so goddamn furious, he’d be appalled at his lack of control. “I’ve been throwing since I was fifteen, Thor. Ten  _fucking_  years and they give  _my_  show to  _him_.”  
  
Thor looks up at him helplessly, and from an outsider’s gaze it must look comical. The Mighty Thor, strongest man in the west, kneeling in the dirt before his slender,  _delicate_  brother. What a  _farce_.

 “Natasha—“Thor starts, then hesitates as Loki spins on his heel to glare at him, eyes fever bright. “Brother, Natasha has said…she’s said you’ve been…missing. And with her at the mark--”  
  
“ _Natasha_ ,” Loki spits, “is a mewling  _quim_. I never miss. I  _never miss_. If I were to bury a knife in her forehead it would be by  _design_ , that lying—“  
  
Thor pushes himself to his feet, reaching out to grab Loki’s upper arms, attempting to still his tirade. “It was not her decision, Loki! Coulson won’t take the chance.”  
  
He stiffens, looking away from entreating blue eyes, matching instead the fathomless depths of Fenrir’s. “Coulson,” Loki bites out, “has always hated me. He’d sooner have me turned out, don’t think he won’t one day—“  
  
Thor cuts him off with a hard kiss, pulling back before Loki can bite him, hands tight around the smaller man’s biceps. “No one is turning you out. They’ve given you options, I’ve heard them suggest illusions, or fortune telling—“  
  
“Do I look like a woman?” Loki hisses, trying to pull away from him. “Fortune telling? I’m not going to sit there like a fool and spin pretty tales for idiots! Why not just put me in a damn skinshow?”  
  
“Loki—“  
  
“Or maybe with the freaks,” he continues cruelly, words every bit as sharp as his knives and just as accurate. “Isn’t that more fitting? The Incestuous Wretch?”  
  
Thor lets go of him, pain flashing over his features like a lightning strike. Loki doesn’t stop, reaching out to grab the front of his brother’s shirt. “We could be a pair, brother. The blow off, right next to the jars—“  
  
A hard slap sends him stumbling, almost going down in the dirt, ears ringing from the blow. Loki presses a hand to his swelling face, looking up at Thor in disbelief and feeling his anger cool into shards of ice, stabbing at his heart.  
  
Thor’s eyes are bright even in the dim lighting, that blond head dipping too late to hide the weakness. Loki swallows hard around something that tastes an awful lot like shame.  
  
“I…” Thor’s voice is thick with poorly-concealed hurt, his emotions as always a fixture on his sleeve. “I shouldn’t have…disturbed you. I’m sorry, brother, truly.”  
  
“Thor…” Loki whispers, mouth unable to shape the words to take the others back.  
  
A sharp shake of the head, forced carelessness in the action. “No, I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I promised Steven I’d help with the tents.” Thor takes a step back, Loki taking an aborted step towards him in compensation, but it’s not enough and before he can open his mouth, Thor’s wide back is disappearing around the corner.  
  
He shuts his eyes tightly, sucking in a breath and forcing himself to release it slowly. Backing towards the cage, he sinks to sit against the bars, shivering as Fenrir snuffles at his hair.  
  
“Damn,” Loki breathes, letting his head fall back against unforgiving iron.   
  
He never misses, not with his knives or his words, but sometimes…he sorely wishes he did.

 


End file.
